


All Apologies

by SadLesbianClown



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 90's Music, Accidental Death, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Music Producer AU, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Seattle AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadLesbianClown/pseuds/SadLesbianClown
Summary: Alright, this is dark and contains a loooot of triggers so be warned. The Seattle grunge-ish AU no one asked for. I’m sorry, alright! I’m awful to these characters, but you have to trust me that there will be a happy ending. I’m going to get you there, I promise. Basically what could have happened Simon’s depression was left to fester. THIS IS NOT A BAZ/LAMB FIC. Previous relationship mentioned only.
Relationships: Lamb/Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow & Original Female Character(s), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyuss/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is a music producer from Seattle. His childhood best friend and crush is Simon Snow. Simon is an agent who drinks. A lot. Especially since last year when he learned his father was dead.

I was thinking about work as I walked to the bar. I’d spent the better part of two weeks in front of a soundboard. Recording had gone three days over schedule. With a deadline pressing, my team and I had worked straight through the weekend. The past two nights I had passed out on the couch in the break room, it's cheap green fabric crusted with cigarette burns easing me to sleep. Or at least until I was jostled awake early the next morning with a sense that I hadn't laid down more than 5 seconds before. I would get up and repeat the day all over again. 

I just finished the album and was on my way to meet Simon. As I approached, I could see the usual crowd of some 15 people shuffling in; a plume of leather and smoke. 

Simon and I had been going here since we were in our late teens. Ebb had been the bouncer for maybe the past decade, and our relationship had been bittersweet to say the least. She’s small, and people often underestimate her strength. I know I certainly did, but I’d been thrown me out on my drunk ass enough times to know better. I am thankful to say that lately, we have had a fairer time. Ebb had grown up just south of Portland and now lives right outside of town where she raises goats. She’s a good person, and when I haven't been wasted after leaving the bar, we have enjoyed several very pleasant chats hanging outside over a smoke. She asks how I am.

“Just fine Ebb, finally finished today. Is Simon here yet?”

“Yeah, he’s been in there for about an hour. Have a goodnight Baz.”

I thank her as I walk through the doors, immediately hit by the hum of the speaker echoing the melancholy song being performed on the stage at the far end of the room. I spot Simon, sitting down toward the end of the bar in his usual stool, drink in hand. My stomach twinges at the sight of the woman he’s talking to. 

Simon’s been my best friend since we were 17. We’d go to shows together, getting into all sorts of mischief with our ragtag friends. They’ve all moved away now. I stayed because of my work, and Simon had never left. Once he found a home here, I don’t think he could imagine being anywhere else. When he moved to Washington state, he had left his father in Oklahoma. David had been an abusive man. If he hadn’t gotten that letter last year saying he’d passed, I don’t think Simon would have ever given him a second thought. But he’s been conflicted lately, and I can’t say it hasn’t been cause for concern.

I walk up to the bar and order a drink, giving my friend time to wrap up his conversation. When he sees me he walks over and gives me a solid pat on the shoulder. "Well look who it is! Didn't know if you'd show up after blowing me off for the past few weeks. How are you Baz?"

"I told you I've been working, but I'm here now so how about I buy you some nachos." A grin spreads across his face, as he accepts the offer. I can always count on food to buy his heart. 

We make our way back to the end of the bar. I feign interest as he tells me about the woman he was just chatting up. I do wish he had someone in his life like that, I wish it could be me, but I could never tell him. I am grateful when he changes the subject. He tells me about the latest act he's working for. A talented singer he picked up when out on Mercer Island, on the other side of the lake. She's got the voice, but her musical talent is subpar, so he asks if I can recommend any guitarist for a collaboration. He's trying to put together an EP for her. He's a good agent but is stubborn in business and his unusual, undefined standards have prevented him from ever making any real money from his job.

I mention I am looking for a new project, now that the album is finally done and ready to be released. Simon recommends we go up to my family's cabin on Puget Sound work on something small together. We can find a musician and record the EP. It's work for us both, and staying in the cabin will be a relaxing change of scenery from my normal studio; some downtime to reintroduce myself to life. I haven't had a vacation in years, and the last time I was up at the lake house I was 24. Since then I've worked non-stop, rarely away from a soundboard, and haven't seen the faces of many but my co-workers and Simon. Plus he seems so excited about this new talent, maybe she'll be good.

We sit and chat for a while, listening to the music, but after my second whiskey, I call it a night. Simon’s been talking to that girl from earlier for a good 15 minutes anyways so I slip out. He tells me to meet him for breakfast tomorrow at the cafe around the corner from his apartment. I agree then turn for the door and hail a taxi as I make my way back home to my flat across town.

\--  
I wake up early, my body is still responding to my work schedule. After letting out a series of groans I rolled over, rubbing my face deep into the pillow in a failed attempt to block out the light pouring through the window. I slowly get ready and have a cigarette but by the time I’m finished, I still have a few hours to kill until I have to meet Simon. I walk to the office to pick up some sample tracks I thought he'd like to hear and maybe find a guitarist. I fill my messenger bag with CDs and papers and call a taxi to pick me up and drive me to Simon's neighborhood.

I sit down and start reading the schedule over a coffee and muffin. I haven't checked the clock in a while. Simon still hasn't shown up. I try calling his phone. No answer. He must be passed out and hungover. 

I get a coffee and scone to go and start walking around the corner to Simon’s place. I ring the bell to no avail and after waiting outside for 15 minutes I take out my key and open the door. I walk into his room to find him indeed passed out on the floor. I flip on the light and tell him to get his ass up. “You promised me breakfast. I have scones! Blueberry. Unfortunately, they were out of cherry.” Still no response. I walk closer to him. "Damn Simon you must have gotten fucking plastered last night. You said 11, it's now noon and you're still lying around. Come on get up, stop being an asshole."

Still no response.

"Simon," I call after him again, throwing off the blanket that had been draped over him. I see now how pale he looks. I see how sunk in his face is. I see a bottle pushed under the bed. What I don't see is him breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. This is going to be rough. But hang in there with me, I promise there is a way through this. There is going to be a happy ending.

My heart is beating in my ears. My gut hardens like a stone. I can't seem to force the air out of my lungs. I panic and crouch down next to him, grabbing at his wrist. It’s warm but lifeless. He has no pulse. I scramble to pull out my phone from my pocket. My hands are trembling and it's making it hard to dial the simple 3 numbers. The difficulty of this normally basic task only makes me panic more. The shaking is getting worse, and my entire body is straining from tension.

A woman answers the phone after two rings, " Hello, 911. What is your emergency?"

" It's my friend," I stumble over my words for a moment," he - he's on the floor and he isn't breathing, but he's still - he's not cold. What should I do?"

"Alright sir, an ambulance is on its way. When did your friend collapse?"

" I - I don't know. He didn't show up, so and when I went to his apartment to get him he was on the floor."

"Was he still breathing when you got there?"

"No, no. I don't know. It was a couple of minutes before I got close enough to him. But he's still warm."

"The body can still be warm for many hours after passing, that's not important right now. If he hasn't been gone long you may be able to restart his heart, do you know CPR?"

"No I don't, what do I need to do?"

She explained to me that I needed to press down on his sternum, telling me when I needed to pinch his nose and force air into his lungs. As I applied pressure there was a cracking sound, "what was that? What happened?" I asked her.

"You probably broke some of his ribs, that's okay. It's very common. Is he responding?"

I told her he wasn't. When the medics arrived, I hung up the phone to watch them work. They asked if my friend had responded to the CPR. After a few rounds of defibrillator treatment, they declared Simon's time of death. They put him in a bag laid out over a stretcher and wheeled the body into the ambulance where he was brought to the Seattle Community Center morgue.

The body.

Not Simon. Not my friend. The body. The lifeless mass of decomposing tissue. They told me that they would call me with the autopsy results, but without any medical tests, I knew what had happened. I don’t think Simon ever wanted to die, but after the letter, he’d stopped taking care of himself. He’d be at the bar a lot, and when he was home it was even worse. It was the bingeing I always told him to be careful of. If only I could have made him listen. 

\--

I am pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the church, pulling at the lapels of my overcoat. The Salisbury’s are already inside, Simon was never close to them but they’re his family nonetheless. Slowly our old friends who have flown in for the funeral are arriving. They're walking up the church stairs and passing through the oak doors in shelter from the rain. They give me sympathetic looks as they pass me with their husbands and wives but they don’t stop for long. It’s close to a full downpour, and the wind is forcing sheets of water across the street, but I am feeling anxious and the rain is acting as a shield from the people. No one in their right mind would stand outside in weather like this, but I am not in my right mind. Not right now anyway. My only real friend has been dead for three days, and if that wasn’t enough to put a pit in my stomach seeing him certainly would. I couldn’t not invite him, I needed to remember that at this moment he wasn’t my ex-boyfriend but his friend. I needed to put my own feelings aside, for Simon. Who am I kidding? Simon never liked him. I don’t know what I was thinking inviting him. Actually I do. I was thinking my world has turned upside down and here’s familiar ground. It was a stupid decision nonetheless.

As his rental car pulls up next to me I keep my eyes to the concrete below my feet as his husband helps park the car and carry their two toddlers into the church. Thankfully he doesn't stop to chat. I stall; puttering around for a few more moments, then go inside to take my seat.

I hate funerals. I don’t think I’ve been in a church since my mother’s. I feel itchy. Like I’m allergic to god. Like even looking at a cross will make me combust. I hardly hear a word said throughout the whole service, in fact, I’m not even thinking about Simon. As fucked up as it is, I don’t think about him at all during his own funeral, except to think how fucked in the head I must be to not be thinking about him. Simon’s grandmother says a few words, and I read my remarks. They sound rehearsed and monotone but I don’t care, this isn’t how I am honoring his memory. Not here, not like this. They didn’t love him like I did. 

My family came; Simon spent so much time at my house over the years he’s as much a Pitch as I am. My father looks like he has a stick of rebar shoved up his ass. I’ve never seen someone sit up so straight. It looks dreadfully uncomfortable. 

At the reception I shake hands with a few of Simon’s relatives, say hi to our old friends, Dev and Niall, Penny; but when no one is looking, I keep my gaze on him. I watch as he chats to our old gang, hanging on his husband's arm. He sees me, my gaze drops to the floor but it’s too late. He excuses himself and I see him walking toward me, a forced smile on his face.

“Didn’t think you could hide forever did you?”

I force a half grin on my otherwise emotionless face, “Hello Lamb.”

“It’s such a shame about Simon, he was a decent fellow. I was always thankful someone stayed behind with you.”

We haven’t spoken since he left me. Years ago, at the drop of a hat, and seeing him now is like talking to a stranger, but I already know your name, I think to myself. 

I wish this could comfort me. I wish my impulse to invite him was right. But instead, I think I might throw up. I have to get out of this room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exactly a summary but originally this chapter was called 'Numb' and I wrote it to Aimee Mann's This is How It Goes on loop at 3AM. So that gives you a pretty good idea of where Baz is at.

I walk home after the funeral, even though I was on the other side of town and it’s still raining, I just didn’t want to talk to another person today, not even a taxi driver.

When I get back to my apartment, I shed my wet coat and smoked a cigarette out on the balcony. I honestly don't know what else to do. Of the two men I have loved in my life, one is dead, and the other I just saw hanging on the arm of his husband. I should be sad right? Angry? Truth be told I don’t feel much of anything. I go inside and pour myself a drink, but even the burn of the alcohol on my throat doesn’t hurt like it should. I pour myself another. Then another. I go into my room, turn off the lights and switch on a tape to drown out the quiet in the apartment. 

I lay over the bundles of blankets on my bed, my hand reaching over my head to fidget with the fitted sheet riding up over the corners of the mattress. I stare at the white ceiling, dust clinging to the popcorn, a rock pitted in my stomach that hasn’t left me since I found Simon on the floor the other day. I am listening to the music intently, probably more than I normally do recreationally, but I need to focus on something because I am starting to hear it. I am hearing his voice tapping on the glass wall surrounding my brain, protecting me from all the dark thoughts on the other side. I can’t let him in, I think to myself. Once I start thinking about him I won’t be able to stop, and I don’t have Lamb to distract me anymore. I fixate on every note, every word sung, every echo off my bedroom wall. I fill my head with music till I can’t think anymore. Until I can't keep myself from falling asleep. 

\--  
When consciousness finally seeps into my mind I lay still with my eyes closed for another 45 minutes unable to fall back asleep. The weather matches my own bleakness so going outside wouldn’t serve any purpose. My apartment doesn’t have much in it since I am rarely here, always working or out at bars. The pit in my stomach makes the thought of food nauseating, trying to work seems pointless. 

After tossing in my bed a few more minutes I get up, grab a lighter and pack of cigarettes from the nightstand next to me. I go outside and light the cigarette but don’t take more than 2 hits from it before I let it burn out in between my fingers, watching ash fall to the ground. I breathe in the cool, damp air deeply, staring out over the street. The people walking along the sidewalk going about their business are completely oblivious to my gaze. I can see them talk to each other and on their cell phones. Some of them hold hands, others walk alone staring blankly ahead of them. I can see everything they are doing, and if they wished they could see everything I am doing, but we don’t interact. Like oil and vinegar existing in the same bowl but completely separated. Simon and I were like that sometimes, we go together but don’t mix. Every time I would think we were getting close it felt like an invisible force would repel us away from each other. We could only be so close.

After a while I make my way back inside, sitting down at the counter to read an article I’d set aside about growing trends in music. I sit and look at the pages for an hour but don’t absorb a single word. Frustrated by my lack of focus I throw the papers back down on the counter, shaking my head as my lips tighten forming a rigid line straight across my face. 

Well if I can’t do anything productive I might as well maintain some level of hygiene, I think to myself. I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower before undressing and grabbing a clean towel from the linen closet behind me to drape over the bar fixed on the wall. I step into the stall standing under the falling water after adjusting the temperature. It’s a bit cooler than is strictly comfortable but the chill is a refreshing change to my otherwise bland existence. I grab the shampoo bottle off the shelf and lather my hair, then let the water rinse it out. Running my hand through my hair a few times before letting my arms fall to my side and the water flow from drooping head down to the drain in a curtain of soapy water over my face. I think about the funeral. I think about seeing all my old friends, and while I could do without another interaction with him I do miss them. 

I finish up in the shower, wrapping the towel around my waist and fishing out a razor from the medicine cabinet. If I don’t want to be a mess I should probably stop looking like one. I rub a thin layer of foam over the scruff that has formed since I last saw Simon, I haven’t shaved since then and that was 4 days ago. I put the blade to my cheek, slowly drawing in down in straight lines, holding the razor under the faucet every so often. Once I have finished one side of my face I move to the other, repeating the process. As I pull the blade down, I briefly catch a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror. I haven’t noticed the dark circles under my eyes before now. Or the streaks of red in my pupils. In a flash I see Simon’s lifeless pale face in my head, I remember all at once he is dead, and a moment later I realize too that to remember I must have at some point forgotten. My grip tightens and the blade breaks through the skin. The sharp pain snaps me from my trance and I look back at my cheek to see blood trickling down and mixing with the white foam. 

Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a second to thank everyone who is reading this. It’s slow coming and a bit of wreck but I hope you’re all enjoying it and will be satisfied with where it goes. Only one or two more chapters of heartbreak before we get to the comfort part of this hurt, so hang in there with me, we’re getting there.

After cleaning the blood off my face and finishing shaving I put on a fresh set of clothes. Some dark cargo pants and a Black Sabbath tee shirt under a navy blue canvas jacket Simon gave me when he moved to Seattle. At the time he purged himself of all his old clothes. He wouldn’t wear this but he couldn’t stand the idea of never seeing it again.

I pick up my phone from beside the bed and see I have 2 missed calls and a voice message from Niall, and a text from Lamb. I listen to the voice message first. Hey Baz, it’s Niall and Dev we’re heading to the bar for a few drinks tonight you should meet us there later. Call me back. 

Next I look at the text. You okay? 

I type back rather confused, I’m alright, why do you ask?

After a few moments a bubble pops up and a reply shortly follows. You weren’t answering Niall’s calls. You left in such a rush last night at the funeral. We were worried.

I let out a sigh. The only thing worse than seeing him with someone else is seeing him with someone else and having him still care. If he had dropped me and never said anything to me again I could have said ‘fine, this is over’ and even willed myself to be angry at him, but I know he cares and I could never be angry at that, beside he’s all I have left now. I type back, Sorry for worrying you, was sleeping. All good. Are you going to be at the bar tonight?

I have two toddlers, I think my late night bar days are over. Glad you’re okay, take care of yourself.

I will, was my last reply and then I called Niall back to ask what time I should be at the bar. 

I called a cab to take me to the bar at around 9. Walking up to the familiar rusty door sent a chill down my back. This is the last place I saw Simon alive not even a week ago. I understand why they wanted to get a drink here, I do. This is where we all spent so much of our youth, where most of them met Simon, but to me this was a form of subtle torture. 

As I pass by Ebb she is less engaging than normal, she simply gives me a knowing look and nods before opening the door. She and Simon were always close, and I know it pained her to have to rough it out with him these last few months.

The sound from the speaker instantly hits me in the chest. The smoke and lights forcing my eyes to squint noticeably. I’ve spent a good part of my life right here in this bar but tonight it feels different. It seems louder, brighter, and unfamiliar. Penny spots me right away and waves me over.

“Baz!” she yells and embraces me in a tight, long hug. I can feel her smiling in my shoulder, only to be confirmed when we break apart. While we didn’t get to talk much at the funeral, we find conversation easily tonight. We have a friendship that can go months of neglect and fall into place at a moments notice as if a day hadn’t passed at all. She was the first one I called to tell that Simon died. She may have been the only one who loved him as much as I did. I know she’s as heartbroken as I am, but it’s comforting to have someone to lean on when I’m falling apart. Disaster always strengthened her. I didn’t leave my bed for 2 days, and she busied herself making the arrangements for Simon’s funeral. I can see a few drinks behind her eyes, she’s not drunk but buzzed and the pain of Simon’s death is pushed behind a veil of pleasantries. 

“We were just talking about the time Simon convinced the bartender he was another guy after being carded. Got two whole rounds of drinks before he caught on and kicked us out. What did he say his name was? Billie?”

“Dickie Brugger, I think it was, and he talked in the fucking stupid ass preppy California accent. He got so plastered that night he broke two beer bottles on the opposite side of the counter. That's why he got carded in the first place,” I let her know. 

“That’s right!” she laughs, “ and then he forgot his accent when he ordered another whiskey! I remember! Oh my,” she sigh, “he was a character. Going to miss the man.” Both of our expressions tense and Penny stares off for a moment before she snaps back with a smile and tells me to come say hi to everyone. 

She keeps her hand on my back as she guilds me to the end of the bar where our friends are. I expect her to let go when we reach them but she doesn’t. I am glad when I see that Simon’s stool is empty. She applies a little more pressure as if she knows, I’m glad of the reassurance. 

“Hey Niall, thanks for inviting me. How are you doing?” He lets me know he and Dev are fine, and of course he invited me it would have been weird any other way. “Dev wishes he could be here but he’s getting over a cold and laid up sick in bed at our hotel room.” Trixie introduces me to her girlfriend, Keris, a thin woman dressed similarly to Fiona, all in leather with riding boots to match. She seems sharp but nice enough. Among the crowd is Fiona, with a man I have never met before, and Mordelia is talking with them. I am half surprised to see her here from New York, my younger sister didn’t start hanging out with us until right before uni, when she headed east. I occasionally hear snickers from them, leave it to my blood to keep up the mood with the morbid jokes. 

I order a coke in the hopes that maybe I can avoid the detachment that seemed to only get worse last night when I had a few drinks. I talk to Penny and Agatha, they're the only one’s not talking about Simon or getting hammered. I can pass being quiet with them, sipping on a soda for an hour as they talk about their jobs and lives. Agatha, in addition to her acting job working plays and small productions, spends the rest of her time waitressing at this small mom and pop place below her apartment. We laugh at her humorous stories about strange customers, but I still can’t seem to match the enthusiasm of my friends. 

It’s a weird thing being with your friends after one of you dies. You could never be quiet in each other’s company, not in a group our size anyways. You are all generally nicer to one another, lacking the heart to engage in normal teasing after the realization that anyone of us could die at any moment, but there isn’t a visible wave of depressive sorrow either. Or at least not on their faces. I can’t seem to keep my real thoughts hidden, they keep floating to the surface and no matter how hard I try to be happy to see these people who I haven’t been around in months or in some cases years I can only fake a slight smile. After two hours I call it a night. I just can’t take being here any longer. Everytime I hear Simon’s name I feel like I am being stabbed in the side, and even though it normally wouldn’t bother me in fact I would under different circumstances probably join them, I don’t feel like being around my drunk friends. I bid my goodbyes, wish everyone safe travels home and hail a cab outside. 

As I sit in the cab on my way home rain starts to fall, trickling down the window next to me. In the silence, any scrap of emotion I started to feel at the bar vanishes. I feel the knot in my stomach tighten, my jaw lock, I think about Simon possibly for the first time since his funeral. I actually make the voluntary choice to think about him. This time it doesn’t hit me with the immediate shock that it has before, but I can see him alive at the bar, Wednesday night sipping his Jack Daniels, a thin lipped grin as he smiles at the girl on the stool next to him. Looking at me with a wink as I leave to go home. I think about how things may have ended differently if I had just stayed. I wonder if he died alone. Did that girl he was with stay with him? 

I look over at the vacant seat next to me, I picture Simon slumped over against the door gazing out the window, lost in his own thoughts. The rare moments when I could see him quietly thinking. I wonder if he knew he was going to die? Can you feel it? A warning, like a signal flashing in the back of your mind the day you die. I peer out my own window now, watching the raindrops race down the glass, the cold is visible when we pass the street lights. I press my hand flat to the cold, and disconnect for just a few minutes. 

By the time the cab pulls up to my door the rain has let up just a bit, returning to its perfect Seattle drizzle. I pay my fare and unlock the front door of my flat. I strip down to my boxers, not bothering to take off the one sock that didn’t get stuck in my shoes when I kicked them off at the door. I pick the bottle of rum up off my kitchen counter. I take the bottle by its body and carry it with me to the living area. Plopping down on the couch rather ungraciously, flipping on the stereo system as I raise the container to my mouth and let the warm, spiced rum flow down the back of my throat. 

Blood shot eyes focus on the door; willing and forcefully awake, I wait. It does not seem to matter that I do not know what I am waiting for. I sit alert and observant; fixated on every car on the street, alert on my phone, siren in the distance. Until,over the sound of the music, I hear it. 

I can hear the sound of Simon’s voice in my head again. Out of nowhere, without any longing for it, he creeps through the cracks of my brain until I cannot think of anything else. 

I see him in my living room, standing and talking. Excitedly passing me records, explaining the history of each group, every member, where they came from, who they knew and where they played. I can almost hear the crackle of the british punk he liked so much, over the speaker we installed together. It fell out of the wall twice before we agreed to let it lay on the floor. Now the base echoes on the floor board. You can feel the music in your feet. “This is how you’re supposed to listen to music,” he said. “The box just needed to remind us. You feel music not hear it.” 

I think of Lamb. Who kept one hand on his husband's back and the other holding their child. I shudder at the recollection of him walking toward me. The same look in his eyes with which he looked upon his young daughter with.

I sigh into the couch, let my thoughts fade as quickly as they arrived. Taking this resolve as my cue to get some rest, I abandon my wait with surprising ease and walk into the bedroom. I stop and lean against the doorway when I come to it, eyeing my bed. 

This is where I slept before, where I had spent almost every night before Simon’s death. Where I, as a person, am supposed to sleep. I don’t feel like one of those right now though. I can’t lay down to bed as if it was any other normal night. As if I was my normal self. The closest thing I can compare myself to is a dull animal, and those sleep on the floor, so that’s what I’ll do. 

I go to the edge of the bed and lay down, flat on my back over the plush carpeted floor. I push the discarded papers and loose articles of clothing away, and stare blankly at the ceiling fan as it rotates with a soft click. 

What am I supposed to do now?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I introduce sort of punk rock Minty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top line is a lyric from My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison

_I don’t know why nobody told you how to unfold your years._

Grow old slowly, patiently, lovingly. 

I don’t know how this controlled you, drove you so far away. 

I must have eventually fallen asleep last night but I can’t remember doing so now. I probably would have slept for a couple more hours had my phone not started ringing. I look at the light of my phone through squinted eyes, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Baz? My name is Minty, Simon gave me your number and said you may be able to help me produce a record.”

This must be the girl Simon was talking about Wednesday night. Shit. She must not know he’s dead. “Yeah I’m Baz. But um. Minty I am sorry to tell you that Simon died five days ago.”

There is a pause on the line before she speaks again, “I know, that's actually why I am calling. I wanted to give my condolences about your friend. He talked very highly of you in the short time I knew him. And - and I wanted to um. Can you meet me at the Cafe Blue in an hour? I think it would be good for us to talk in person.”

“Sure, I’ll see you in an hour.”

I hang up the phone and slump back. Maybe I answered too quickly. I could barely convince myself to spend time with my friends, I don’t even know this girl. Whatever the case it will give me something to do; a distraction. I shower and smoke a cigarette before taking a taxi to the cafe.

When I get there I realize I have no idea what to look for. I scan the cafe and inside I see a girl sitting alone in the corner, holding onto a mug with both hands, covered to her knuckles in a long stretched sweater. She’s staring at her fingers as they tap the cup, I can’t see her face but I see the mop of black hair with faded dark purple highlights that are on her head. She looks up and right at me, smiling at me before waving me over. I can see her face, her striking triangular features, dark eyes, over a sharp nose, and the lips grinning at me with purple lipstick matching her hair. "Hi Baz! Thanks for coming to see me! I know this is kinda weird but I thought it might be better to talk face to face."

"No problem, I needed to get out of the house anyway."

She smiles at me again, I can almost see the gears turning in her head when she looks down at her cup again before speaking again. "So Simon, he um - well he had called me Wednesday night sometime around 1 AM. He asked if he could stop by my place, he had something he wanted to give me."

She must have been the last person he talked to before he died. I'm anxious to have to hear what she says next but she pauses, looking down at her cup again. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a single key that she twirls around in her fingers. “He gave me this,” she hands it over to me. “He said I should go to this house and that we could record my EP up there but I should go up there first to make sure I liked the vibe of the place before we bothered lugging the equipment up there. When I heard he died I went up there for a day just to see what he was getting at. It’s a nice place, you ever been there?”

A bit taken back by the sudden question, I stumble before I can tell her that yes, I’ve been there. It’s my family’s house. 

I want to be mad at him for giving away a key to my house, but I can’t. I feel guilty just even thinking about it. My mind starts to wander, and I can feel pressure building behind my eyes. I really don’t want to cry. But he’s dead. My best friend. The love of my life is-

“Well, anyways I wanted to know if you’d go back up north with me today and spend the rest of the week jamming. Simon had said you knew how to play and I don’t know, it just seemed like a good idea to follow through with this thing he wanted to do.” Minty has cocked her head and leaned forward slightly. Her words spill out louder and faster than before, trying to hold my attention. I’m appreciative of it at this moment. I need that kind of aggression. I need someone to force me to pay attention to my surroundings and not the thoughts inside my head. I process what she said. 

My first instinct is to say no. That I should stay here after such a rough week, but going to the lake house would be a good idea to get away from some of this stuff, and being somewhere that I used to spend so much time with Simon, sounds really good right now.

I agree to go with her. Go where the distraction leads. I tell her I had to pack a bag, and that she can pick me up in another hour or so. Maybe we can record the vocal parts and find a real guitarist when we get back.

  
  
  
  
  


**\--**

  
  


We talk a bit on the drive up to the lake house. She tells me about how she and Simon met. “Agatha introduced us. I think Simon said you know her?” I nod. 

“I was playing this little, shit bar down on Mercer Island right, and Agatha had gone off and was talking to someone at the bar but I see this guy hanging around off to the left of the stage and everyone else is drinking, talking but there he is just watching. Like we were the only two people in the room. Honestly it probably should have creeped me out, the way this dude was just staring at me like that, but it didn’t feel threatening you know what I mean? But anyway, after the show he walks up to me and asks me a bunch of weird questions about like my feelings performing and being up on stage like that, and so we ended up chatting for 2 hours. Afterward he gives me his card and tells me he’d like to be my agent. Your friend’s got quite the personality I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah he really did.”

“You know Baz, it's so clear to me why Simon loved you so much. You're a quiet guy, I’ll give you that, but you’ve got a real openness to you.”

“Anyone who’s ever met me might beg to differ.”

“No, I’m serious. Well, take this morning. What kind of a man do you know, who would trust his friend’s impression of people so much. Even go roading with someone he met just a few hours ago?” 

She’s right, I have no reason to be here, but I trust Simon. I have to.

“The same kind of person who would invite the best friend of a dead guy she met last week on a road trip after meeting him a few hours ago.”

“Touche.” I can’t help but give a slight smile at her smirk. 

  
  
  


**\--**

When we get to the lake house it is dusk and it looks just as it did the last time I was here some 7 years ago. The lake is still as the sun glistens over its waters. Imagine the world of life and activity that lay beneath this shell. I help Minty carry her guitar and speakers into the little two-bedroom cabin. When Simon used to take me here we’d always camp out in the living room, it had the best view of the whole house, overlooking the lake and the hills beyond.

There are three large windows corning the living room, and a skylight right above the coffee table, filling the room with light. Behind the small dining table is a small galley kitchen, I can imagine Simon squeezing onto the counter, legs swaying as I would cook dinner. I shake my head. There are bedrooms down the hall away from the living spaces, but we never used them. The minimal furnishings and bare wood walls feel open. I feel like I can breathe. 

Sitting on the porch you can gaze out for hours, completely lost as you listen to the loons call out in the fog, their bodiless voices in the serene wilderness.

Minty has gone ahead of me and unlocked the door, I stop in shock as I walk in to see her bags in the living room. She’s begun to pull out the couch bed. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch you know? There are two bedrooms in the back, you can take the master if you want,” I let her know.

“No thanks,” she beams back at me, “if it's all the same to you I’d like to be out here. When I was here the other day, this is where I slept. Best view of the house.” 

“That's fine with me, but would you mind if I slept out here on the floor? That’s the way Simon and I would always camp out and I feel like it would be weird to stay anywhere else.”

“Sure,” she says with a soft smile as I lay out a blanket.

\--

After dinner we settle down on the porch, playing and even laughing a bit. I see what Simon means about her playing, she’s got a rough strum but when I play guitar and she sings there is a nice harmony. The instrumental accompaniment however seems minuscule compared to her voice. Oh dear lord her voice. Like an angel, it has an almost southern tang, “from years of livin' in Asheville,” she tells me, and it carries across the sound in a sweet melody.

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” she asks me from her position on the swinging bench she’s curled up in, cocooned in a knit blanket.

“When I was living in Chicago. There was this guy Micah who lived down the street from me, a little older than I was maybe 20 when I was 15, but you know when you’re a kid 5 years feels like decades. Anyway, he’d go sit outside and play for hours. Me and some of the other neighbor kids would make our way to his front yard and listen to his music and the stories he’d tell. He started to notice how I would strum against the seam of the pants along to the melody and so one night he called me over and taught me some chords and then he just kept doing that whenever he would play. By the time I’d grown and was getting ready to move to Washington, I could play along to anything he’d strum.”

“Well he sounds like a lovely man.”

“Yeah until he started dating one of my friends and turned out to be a bit of an ass, but he did teach me to play.”

“Have you ever played on any of the records you’ve produced?”

“No, when I was younger I never thought I was good enough to make it as a musician, and now that I’m an adult I never have the time to practice."

Minty gives me a knowing look, and I can see those gears moving again. “Well we may just have to change that,” she says, giving me another smile. I wonder if this is what Simon had planned when he told Minty that I play.

A while later we go inside and head to bed. She lays down on the foldout couch and I’m on the floor, staring up at the ceiling again. I’m relieved to find it's not like last night, and I can feel somewhat human. Unfortunately that means that I can feel my old back cracking against the hardwood floors. I’m not as young as I was the last time I slept here and my body will not let me ignore it. Apparently I must have been shifting around a lot because Minty pops her head over the foot of the bed to look down at me, her mop hair falling over her face. “You want to sleep up here?” she asks in a peppy tone. “I promise I don’t bite, and honestly I’m not sure I could even sleep on that floor down there.”

“Sure, why not. My back certainly won’t be sorry.”

I crawl up off the floor, with the aid of Minty who has extended her hand to help me up. When I am standing she jumps back to the head of the bed. She’s sitting cross-legged and the moonlight is reflecting off the lake and onto her face, adding a soft blue glow to her smile. I love the way that light looks on a smile. I just wish it was a different face looking back at me. I shift onto the bed and lay on my side away from her. I hear her do the same. 

  
  


**\--**

I wake with a sharp breath. At first I couldn't recognize the women next to me, or the room I am in. I feel my heart clench in my rib cage, my neck craning back rapidly. I throw my head back against the white covered pillow once I recognize Minty, the house, and the events that have transpired over the past few days. I exhale deeply, emptying my lungs just to fill them fuller and pull oxygen into my heart as I stare at the ceiling.

Cedar is an aroma I can smell anytime, anywhere, as a result of spending so many nights under this very ceiling. Like some people can pull from their memory the scent of their grandmother's perfume or dew on morning grass, I can bring the scent back to my nose and throat. The sharp, spiced scent that you can feel traveling through your lungs to every small alveolus.

Minty leaves the bed and calls out over her shoulder, “I’m making eggs, do you want any?”

"I’m not hungry, but thanks. I'm going to set up some equipment so we can get right to work after breakfast.” Minty stares at me a moment, I can see pity and concern growing behind her eyes so I give her a probably unconvincing smile to keep her at bay but that's all I can will myself to do. It seems to work well enough though because she nods and walks off to the kitchen.

I lay in bed for another moment, taking another breath filled with the cedar air and then let my feet fall over the edge of the bed. Their contact with the cold floor is less than inviting but I force the rest of my body up, and walk to the front door, grabbing a grey sweatshirt off a dining room chair. It's Simon’s. He didn’t use to wear it often, really only when he would come up here. It doesn’t match the rest of his rocker apparel. When I walk onto the porch I realize why he kept it here. It's the perfect weight for the chill of the lake in the early morning. The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I walk over to the wood porch swing Minty had been curled up on the night before. The wood is dark with streaks from the dampness of the air, but it's still comfortable. I sit down, the bench rocking backward as I do so. Momentum pulling me forward again, and back in a gentle sway. I pull a cigarette from its packaging, placing it between my lips and lighting it. The heat from the light hitting my face before I breathe in and push the smoke from my mouth into the surrounding air. The raindrops are hitting the roof at a leisurely pace, so I can hear each individual drop and watch them drip off the edge onto the green railing that matches the treads. I am almost comfortable. I can barely make out the water from here, even though the shore is just a few hundred feet from the steps, the fog is thick and clouds cling the air. I can still hear the slight break against the rockier parts of the shore, the cool dark water rushing over the smooth pebbles. My mind is clear I realize. It immediately sends a panic through me. I can see Simon on the floor and the waves from the shore now sound violent and pounds and the cool air is no longer going into my lungs and- “BREAKFAST IS READY,” I hear Minty yell from the house. Her head pops out of the screen door, “I made you eggs anyway, come eat.” 

After I choked down my breakfast, out of politeness more than appetite. I head to the living room where I had set up the microphone. "One, two- red rover, red rover-check. Acoustics are kinda shit in here Minty, I don't know if this is going to work out."

"Well let's give it a try and if it doesn't work we can go back into town to the studio. If for no other reason than it's absolutely stunning in here with the rain over the skylight." She cracks a wide-eyed, toothy smile at me then looks up at the sky again with a hint of amazement.

Minty's voice resonates off the wood is a smooth hum, light, and easy to the ear. She plays the song twice to warm up, lyrically it's a breakup song. Leaving when you're ahead in a relationship that isn't going to end well in the long run. I wonder if the lyrics are real to her or just a story. 

We break for lunch and I lap the tracks roughly so she can hear them both when she plays the final part.

Minty goes to the porch to enjoy her ham and cheese sandwich. She made me one too, I don’t eat it. I don’t want to stop working.

I do join her briefly outside so I can have a quick smoke. I light my cigarette and take a deep inhale before she looks over at me and smiles, "How am I doing?"

"You're fine." She gives me an uneasy look, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. I go on a bit further, "We should be done with this track by tomorrow morning. You can listen to it over breakfast and if it doesn't work out we can redo the whole number in a better location."

She pauses for a moment, then tells me that's fine and she hopes we can use our work today on the EP. She smiles again at me, this time a little more forced than before, then she goes inside.

After I finish my cigarette I go back in, I find her listening to the tracks we have mixed so far. Tapping along on her thigh and mouthing the lyrics we are about to add- the first vocal track had too much feedback so we have to do it again.

I turn the equipment back on, and she sings while I play the guitar, by her request, in the melody she had shown me before, adding some flare and pick ups. On the final track she'll be performing the rhythm- a combination of vocalized beats and repetitive strums, as well as the vocal parts while I'll be playing the main melody.

When we finish I go straight to work sitting at my laptop listening to each track, adjusting the speed, volume, tone, separating all the noise within each to a fine hair trying to separate the echo from background noise, and the echo from the original strikes.

Later when Minty asks me if I want to go into the nearest town for some dinner to celebrate her first recording, I mumble something about the shit acoustics in this room, and why the hell did I try to record it here in the first place. Giving me a disgruntled look she tells me she'll go by herself and bring me back something.

When she returns a couple of hours later she's carrying take out boxes, " I got you some lemon chicken and a slice of the best chocolate cake you'll ever eat. I had to fight for it but alas I was victorious!" she says with a big grin as she waves the plastic bag in the air.

"It’s this rain, I can't seem to separate the pater on the roof from the frequency of the echo of the backbeat."

"Then leave it, blow it up, the soundscape is as much a part of the music as the lyrics." Her enthusiasm and encouragement over something I've been fighting for 2 hours makes me cringe a bit in my seat. Though I hadn't thought she would notice she apparently has because she gives me a stern look. It's not a look I had expected from someone who is so eccentric. She's staring right through me, it’s highly unsettling. When she finally speaks it’s in a tone of complete seriousness," Eat your cake."

Once she turns and walks away, I open the styrofoam box and take a bit from the corner of the slice. Afraid to disobey. It is some good cake.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys this was kind of a weird chapter I know, but the next chapter is what this story is all about. The real story I’m trying to tell. Hang in there friends, we’re almost there
> 
> 31/5/20 Update: my laptop has died so updates may become very sporadic as typing on my phone, especially long works like this, is quite difficult. While I will keep trying to tell this tale it might be a long while before I post again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I post this final chapter I gift it to Kyuss, as their comments are the only reason I posted anything more than one chapter to this fandom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baz wakes.

I pull myself up, gripping the sheets trying to keep from falling over. The walls won't stop moving. The floor looks 6 feet below me as I strain my eyes wide trying to focus on anything, struggling to find balance. I can't get the air to leave my lungs. Trapping them filled with carbon dioxide, and preventing any oxygen from getting in. I'm panting, as I stumble into the kitchen. Swaying back and forth as if I am lost at sea. My fists clench the rim of the counter, I go to reach for a cigarette in the drawer beside the sink. I nervously try and click the lighter, but my hands are trembling. _Why are they shaking? And why can't I make them stop? Get control of yourself Baz._ My frustration only seems to make them shake more. I try and fail repeated to click the ignition. Finally a flame appears and I can light the cigarette.

I pull my still trembling hand away from my mouth after I inhale the smoke. I put the cigarette back in my mouth and hold in between my teeth, a slight gap in my lips allowing air to pass in and out. I use both my hand to open the kitchen window. The rain blows in and onto the counter, but right now I don't care. I just want this to stop.

A gust a cold air blows in, and wakes Minty up. A moment later she is right beside me, her hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? Baz - Baz are you alright? Talk to me Baz. What's going to on?"

"He can't - he can't," I can't seem to match her gaze but I manage to stutter out a response, "he can't be gone."

Minty looks right at me like a deer in headlights, her face going pale when she realizes what I am saying.

"I have to go." I continue, "I shouldn't be here. I have to go home."

"Baz, listen to me you don't have to go anywhere. It's the middle of the night. Just relax, it's okay."

"I have to go," I say again, this time with more urgency, "Why am I here? Why - why - why am I even here. I shouldn't be here." I trip over my own words as they pour faster out of my mouth than my brain can process.

"Baz, you have to calm down, you're going to pass out. Just breathe."

"I-I-I," I can't speak at all now. I can't stop this shaking. I can't stop this constant spastic inhale as I gasp for air. I throw my cigarette in the metal sink.

"Baz.” I hear Minty say, but it’s distant. She is growing farther from me-I’m going farther from her, I’m falling. I’m falling and I hear my name. “Baz!” It cries, but the lights are going dark. I fall and I’m in bed. 

I’m in bed, and the voice is calling my name but it’s not a stranger I hear. It’s Simon. I’m in _our_ bed. In the flat in London. I’m awake and the air is reaching my lungs and there are arms around me. 

“Baz, sweetheart, you were dreaming, it’s okay.”

I break. I let the tears fall and I collapse against him. Simon. My Simon. My stupid, lovely, broken boyfriend. 

Tomorrow I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him of my fears. I’ll ask him to stop drinking. I’ll tell Penny I’m ready. She’s wanted to get him out of this house for months. An intervention. I’ve been dragging my feet, as if hoping he’ll get better will make it so. No, he needs us. He needs a change. We all do. But not to America, as Bunce suggested. Wales maybe. Take him back to where it started where he was born. Where he had a mother. We can stay in the cottage Simon inherited when the Mage died. I know he doesn’t want to go anywhere the Mage lived, but he didn’t live there; he merely existed. 

He could get goats. Simon always loved goats. He could fly above the fields. 

Let his wings spread, in the sun. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to end this here. It wasn’t what I hoped it could be, but I got the words on paper so I feel I can let this story lie. We often talk about Simon’s nightmares, but rarely the details of Baz’s, so here was what happens when Baz falls asleep listening to Nirvana. This takes place at the start of Wayward Son with an alternative end. It’s about what could have happened if Simon hadn’t gotten help. I wanted to play more on Simon’s relationship with the Mage and Baz’s fear of losing Simon like he’d already lost his mother, but I ran out of energy to pour into a fanfic and my laptop died a very unfortunate death. Thank you to any and all who read this. Special thanks to Kyuss for always commenting. Honestly you are the only reason I kept writing this and am giving it any kind of ending. It really made my day anytime I saw you in my inbox. Hope you are safe and well in these wacky times.

**Author's Note:**

> Btw if you want to listen to the official soundtrack of this fic you can find it on my sadlesbianclown spotify page https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6afYzv5gS2oRgGzuFcK75x?si=mwgpy5V4RY-CfHe_O0-8zA


End file.
